So we’re all really looking forward to the next 47 days until the General Election, right?

And as a sort of amuse-bouche, we have county council elections to keep us going until the main course on June 8.

And if there’s anything we’ve learned over the last two years it’s that elections and referendum votes really, you know, bring a country together, and leave it feeling more at peace, more unified – a happier place all round.

And it’s easy to be sniffy about politicians. And, frankly, quite often fun.

But I have to say, and this might not be the most popular opinion, I rather like MPs.

And I think they are more maligned that they deserve.

Now, in any group of 650 people there are bound to be some wrong ‘uns. Especially among the sort who make it to parliament- I’m guessing most are the high-achieving, driven, ambitious type A personalities.

And maybe they are all the same, and only in it for themselves but from what I’ve seen of the job, there’s got to be way easier ways of making yourself unwarrantedly rewarded.

For a start, the money’s good, very good, but it’s a long way off Premiership footballer level - so there’s no prospect of not having to work again.

(I mean, look at George Osborne, even without the MP’s gig, he’s working three or four jobs. You know how it is, baby needs shoes.)

But even for the money, there’s a lot of work.

I’ve had a fair amount of dealings with MPs in Gloucestershire and here’s what I know. If I call them early in the morning they’ll take the call. (Mostly, obvs) I’ve called them on holiday abroad and often they’ve either given me the comment I’ve needed or have sent something to me later.

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I’ve called them any day of the working week and they seem to be doing something important.

If I’m working at the weekend, and there’s some event: litter-picking on the Honeybourne Line, or a walk protesting about something, or a coffee morning, whatever, then they’re probably at that as well.

It looks very much to me like a seven-day a week job. And everyone surely deserves a day off. Even if they don’t, their children deserve a day to see mum or dad.

And they might well be out of a job every five years. Or every two if their boss suddenly takes it into her head to ruin everyone’s early summer. You think that might be stressful.

Then there’s trekking up to Westminster on a weekly basis. Not too terrible from Cheltenham or Gloucester or Stroud. Trickier from Ross, Lochaber and Skye, or Shetland though.

And then lazy, half-baked, prejudiced ill-informed, in-a-rush reporters like me give them a slagging in the press and other set up Twitter accounts giving them grief.